I love having my own pretty little house with a great view of Shadow Hills, blooming desert plants, and a little waterfall. I love that Oliver has a patio and a tiny back yard to nose around in. The only thing I don't love is the tax bill.
It came last week, with two little payment stubs--one-half due November 1st and one-half due February 1st. I knew it was coming, and I saved money. But somehow, it always knocks the wind out of me whenever I get an official-looking letter from a government taxing agency.
The Riverside County Assessor sent me a supplemental form that showed the correct purchase price of my home. But the tax bill was based on the previous owner's purchase price, which was considerably higher than my bargain basement deal. I asked Bill for advice. "Pay it," he said. They'll credit you later. Don't wait for them to fix it before you pay--their remedy for unpaid taxes is to sell your house!" Duly terrified, I resolved to follow his advice if I couldn't get a human on the phone at the Assessor's office.
I called several times; the first time I went through the telephone tree from Hell only to be told my situation required help from an agent, but due to a system problem I couldn't be put through to one. The next day, I made it through the demonic telephone menu, was put on hold, and was told I was the 12th caller. Then I was the 10th, then...well you get the idea. When I finally got to the first position, the bad music on hold ceased. Then the telephone survey I agreed to take began. "No!" I shouted into the phone, "No survey! Agent! Give me an agent!" The cheery automated system said, "This ends the call. Good-bye." I knew it couldn't hear me. I knew it was stupid to yell at it. But I told it how wrong it was, and that this indeed did not end the matter.
I finally got through to a human (hint: press the button for "I want to pay my taxes.") He was friendly and helpful. When I told him my situation, he said, "Just pay it. They'll credit you the overage on your next installment." [Hand smacking forehead. I coulda just listened to Bill!] I emailed Bill to tell him how smart he is. I mailed the check (certified, with proof of delivery receipt). Now I'm sitting back, playing with my dog and listening to my waterfall, waiting for the government magic to happen. It's all good. I'm sure it is. Really.
It came last week, with two little payment stubs--one-half due November 1st and one-half due February 1st. I knew it was coming, and I saved money. But somehow, it always knocks the wind out of me whenever I get an official-looking letter from a government taxing agency.
The Riverside County Assessor sent me a supplemental form that showed the correct purchase price of my home. But the tax bill was based on the previous owner's purchase price, which was considerably higher than my bargain basement deal. I asked Bill for advice. "Pay it," he said. They'll credit you later. Don't wait for them to fix it before you pay--their remedy for unpaid taxes is to sell your house!" Duly terrified, I resolved to follow his advice if I couldn't get a human on the phone at the Assessor's office.
I called several times; the first time I went through the telephone tree from Hell only to be told my situation required help from an agent, but due to a system problem I couldn't be put through to one. The next day, I made it through the demonic telephone menu, was put on hold, and was told I was the 12th caller. Then I was the 10th, then...well you get the idea. When I finally got to the first position, the bad music on hold ceased. Then the telephone survey I agreed to take began. "No!" I shouted into the phone, "No survey! Agent! Give me an agent!" The cheery automated system said, "This ends the call. Good-bye." I knew it couldn't hear me. I knew it was stupid to yell at it. But I told it how wrong it was, and that this indeed did not end the matter.
I finally got through to a human (hint: press the button for "I want to pay my taxes.") He was friendly and helpful. When I told him my situation, he said, "Just pay it. They'll credit you the overage on your next installment." [Hand smacking forehead. I coulda just listened to Bill!] I emailed Bill to tell him how smart he is. I mailed the check (certified, with proof of delivery receipt). Now I'm sitting back, playing with my dog and listening to my waterfall, waiting for the government magic to happen. It's all good. I'm sure it is. Really.
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